Stress Relief
by Doktor Girlfriend
Summary: Exhausted after the day's battle but unable to sleep, the Engineer tries an alternative method to relax.


Title: Stress Relief  
Author: Doktor Girlfriend  
Pairings/Cast: Engineer, implied Engineer/Spy (BLU)  
Rating: PG-13  
Contents/Warnings: Male masturbation, implied slash  
Summary: It's only so he can sleep.  
Disclaimer: I do not own _Team Fortress 2_, the associated classes, or Dell Conagher. The canon characters depicted adhere to my personal headcanon and interpretations.  
Notes: Partially inspired by a porn prompt meme and originally written as a solo scene for a Tumblr-based TF2 RP, it also fits into my headcanon/fanfic universes, so I decided to upload it here as a vignette.

**Stress Relief**

**By Doktor Girlfriend**

Aching bones, protesting muscles, every bruise, burn, and bullet wound sustained during the day's battle felt now as a persistent dull throb regardless of how long ago Respawn or the Dispenser had whisked them away. Dell is exhausted, just barely dragging himself back to his room at the end of the day, shoulders weighed down with the burden of every single one of the day's failures, no matter how minuscule, and he wants nothing more than to sleep, to crawl into bed and drown in the warm, dark comfort of dreams.

But aches and exhaustion aren't all the battle has left in its wake. Adrenaline, aggression, leftover but still potent, jittering along every nerve, shaking his frame. Every second guess and wrong move replaying endlessly in his head, stress and anxiety gathering behind his eyes, pounding in his skull. The old, familiar gang. They won't let him sleep, never mind how bone tired he is. They never let him sleep.

He knows, though it twists his stomach with further anxiousness, burns his face with shame, he knows there's only one thing for it.

Under the spray of the shower, as hot as he can stand, he tries to relax, urges his body to go loose, and doesn't think about what he's going to do, doesn't think about anything. Thinking is dangerous in these situations, he knows that only too well and endeavors not to think, not dare fantasize, as often as he can. He takes a deep inhale of the steamy air, letting it cloud his mind, exhaling all thought, and lets instinct take over. He finds he's already risen when he reaches down, and that shouldn't surprise him like it does. It's been a month or more. But that's dangerously close to a thought, and he banishes it before going to work.

It feels good even if it's mechanical, comforting even if shameful, and it serves its intended purpose, his body beginning to relax, slump forward, forgetting its pains as his mind forgets its worries. His breath and hand settle into a long-established rhythm, and he lets his feet slide further apart, bracing one arm against the shower wall and nesting his forehead against it, trusting his body to know what to do and to free his mind to think only of steam and water and the long rest to come.

Minutes pass languidly, lost in his perverse meditation, he doesn't know how many, but the water is still warm enough when the shudders start their journeys up and down his spine. He doesn't gasp or sigh, doesn't allow it, but he can't help his breath growing harsher, his hand gripping tighter, moving faster, the way his body begins to rock, can't help feeling, feeling, ___feeling_. But feeling is better than thinking, and he doesn't indulge but he doesn't resist, letting it grow, letting it build, knowing soon, so soon he can fall into bed, soon he can sleep. And that's what this is about, that's all this is about, nothing more. He just wants to be able to sleep through the night, there's no ulterior motive, no dark secret, just a yearning for a little night's peace. But, oh, wouldn't it be wonderful, wouldn't it be grand if only, just only, he could-

No, he won't think, he mustn't think. He's almost done it, almost made it safely through the woods. His head fogs with every panting inhale, tongue running over and over his lips as the tension mounts. He can feel it coiling tighter and tauter in his belly, like a creature about to pounce, it curls his toes, steals his breath, and soon, yes, it's soon, it's close, almost, almost there, he can feel it just over the rise of the hill, just a little more, just don't think, don't think, don't think about-

___-dark eyes on his, peering right down into the center of him, all the little dark corners, hot breath whispering promises against his lips, soft, seeking mouth just barely grazing his own, so close, so achingly close he can taste it, he can taste cigarettes-_

"Nnnhh-!"

Any regret at his spectacular failure, any disappointment he feels is disintegrated by the warm rush of pleasure, by wave after wave of shuddering, transcendental bliss. This if nothing else he allows himself to enjoy, powerless to do otherwise, leaning all his weight on the arm against the wall, mouth open in a silent smile, riding it out as it pulses and shivers through his body. And when it's over, it's not, the slow flood of endorphins soothing every last ache and chasing away every last concern, leaving him to slump heavily against the shower wall and ___breathe_, sated and sleepy and peaceful at last.

But it's not time yet to indulge. He can't sleep in the shower, and the water's turning lukewarm anyway. Bed must be reached before the loneliness and guilt can creep past his warm, lazy defense, before he can start to reflect on the shred of fantasy that flickered through his mind at the end, before he starts to think. Quickly, but not so quick that it jolts him from his drowsy haze, he dries and dresses and shuffles back to his room, feeling his way through the dark to his bed, and tonight he makes it in time, is safe under the covers before the fog can dissipate and the anxiety and self-doubt can find their way back inside. Turning his face into the pillow, he only then allows himself to sigh, just once, and closes his eyes as he falls swiftly, blissfully to sleep.


End file.
